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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29670840">Never Sold My Soul</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hometowne/pseuds/Hometowne'>Hometowne</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Devil May Cry</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M, Mundus based torture and noncon, Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 23:53:21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,835</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29670840</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hometowne/pseuds/Hometowne</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p><i>'I want to covet you', he thinks, 'exotic, displaced creature of two worlds. Nobody deserves to put their hands on you. Nobody but me'.</i> </p><p> Vergil and Dante have plenty of time in the Underworld: time to act on old carnal instincts, time to reconnect, and time to linger on more unsavory truths.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dante/Vergil (Devil May Cry), Mundus/Vergil (Devil May Cry)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>64</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Never Sold My Soul</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Archived warning comes into play next chapter.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">“I don’t think this healed right.”</p><p class="p1">Dante drops to the base of some pale, white tree, kicking his leg out to examine it. </p><p class="p1">“What didn’t?” Vergil asks with the distracted, practiced indifference of someone only humoring conversation.</p><p class="p1">A sharp “<em>Vergil!</em>” tears the older twin’s gaze from the brilliant red-orange line of the underworld’s sunset.</p><p class="p1">“<em>What</em>?” He repeats, annoyed now to be called on his bluff. Dante gazes up at him, full of a coiled potential even in his lax pose, ever on his guard—as if, Vergil thinks distractedly, I may lash out at him—yet not without an easy elegance. Beautiful. Deadly. A smile threatens to crack his dry lip at the sight. He’s a lion, or maybe a lioness, and he looks perfectly natural in the fading brilliant light of this world.</p><p class="p1"><em>I want to covet you</em>, he thinks, <em>exotic, displaced creature of two worlds</em>.<em> Nobody deserves to put their hands on you. Nobody but me.</em></p><p class="p1">“My femur,” Dante claps his hands on his considerable thigh demonstrably, “It didn’t set right after the last tussle with that nest of furies we pissed off. Normally I re-break it myself but it takes a couple passes at it—could ya help?”</p><p class="p1">Vergil sighs through his nose and sinks to one knee, glaring critically at Dante’s thigh like he might be able to simply see right through it. Dante catches a laugh in his throat over it that Vergil disregards. Instead, he reaches a hand to test carefully at his brother’s leg, feeling the unnatural turn of muscle mass. “Yes, this isn’t right.” He glances upward to catch Dante smiling nakedly at him like a cornered thief. He can’t even begin to imagine whatever adolescent thing has him looking like that but he doesn’t intend to humor it. “Take off your pants.”</p><p class="p1">“Wow, don’t have to tell me twice, Verge!”</p><p class="p1">“Shut up,” he retorts with more exhaustion than venom. Dante’s already wriggling out of his leather pants, pushing them down, getting caught on his boots that he hadn’t thought to kick off first, struggling briefly with that—just like a kid, Vergil thinks. Once his legs are free Vergil moves in to check out the offending thigh in question. Tinged pink and irritated, the flow of Dante’s well-used musculature at an odd direction. When he puts his fingers curiously on the bare skin of Dante’s thigh, considering how exactly to approach it, he catches a twitch from his peripheral. His eager younger brother is already at half mast in those dark old boxer briefs. From what? Who knows, but Vergil gives him a sharp and scolding look that falters at the corners over the bare earnestness in Dante’s face he’s met with. That Cheshire grin dampened by the apologetic crease of his brow. He doesn’t say a thing but doesn’t need to. Vergil’s chest contracts savagely under his twin’s glow, a little startled by the raw love for him that bubbled to the fractured surface.</p><p class="p1">He puts a knee in Dante’s gut, grabbing his thigh and twisting with a cruel, efficient snap that earns a sharp, wounded yell.</p><p class="p1">“<em>OW</em> Vergil what the fuck?!” He hisses, glaring mournfully, “Say somethin’, warn me!” A quick glance tells him that his femur has been set properly this time, his rapid healing only seems to be enhanced in the demonic realm and it’s already nothing but a pale tinge now. “Bitch...”</p><p class="p1">“You’re welcome,” Vergil retorts, pulling away, and Dante can hear the lack of his usual chill in it.</p><p class="p1">“Thanks...” Feeling every ounce the younger brother he is, Dante grabs for his pants and goes to shimmy them back on but Vergil stops him with a hand on his wrist.</p><p class="p1"> </p>
<hr/><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">Vergil looks so vulgar with lips wrapped tight around his cock, shocking almost, and Dante wonders what possessed him to do such a thing. Ever since they’ve been lost in the demonic countryside they’ve been going at each other with little warning, as if their bodies were equally needful to make up for all of that lost time. Short, intense acts of raw pleasure, an urge like a hungry instinct simply being satiated, something that made Dante think about the sexual intensity of the honeymoon phase in first-time lovers. It almost made him feel juvenile, cowed, but there was hardly anything romantic about what they were doing here. Caving in to animal urges, where nobody could see them.</p><p class="p1">A basic need. They were simply apart for far too long, it was unnatural. Neither one of them had said a word about it. They let their bodies do the talking, the pleasant musky tinge of their scents and the electric draw of their demonic auras. <em>I missed you</em>, whispers Dante’s treacherous little human brain,<em> I missed you every day</em>. He bites his lip to stay the flood of things he’d want to say aloud and spare himself the embarrassment, instead he angles to lose himself in the heat of pleasure by reaching to grab at Vergil’s hair, rocking his hips into the warm cavern of his mouth.</p><p class="p1">But Vergil didn’t like that. He growls in his throat like an animal tested, the purr of his vocal cords against Dante’s throbbing cock threatening to finish him right there, before he swats his younger twin’s hands away.</p><p class="p1">“Ah—hey,” Dante starts but Vergil silences him with a vice grip on his hips, holding him still while he bobs and lashes at Dante’s length with a hot tongue like a man on a mission. So that’s his game. <em>Alright</em>, Dante concedes. <em>I see how it is</em>. He can feel a threatening flicker of fang against him and does briefly fear that Vergil is going to bite right into him. He doesn’t, of course, but truthfully Dante has yet to stop being on edge for the sudden threat of violence from his twin. Yet in this moment, somehow, all it does is excite him.</p><p class="p1">He tries to make a game of it, a competition with himself, but he doesn’t last long before Vergil has him coming hard down his throat. <em>Damn,</em> he thinks,<em> like a damn kid. Like a teenager. Shameful</em>. When the starbursts clear from his vision and his mind starts to reorient itself from the merciful whiteout of pleasure he glances down to Vergil, finding him staring right back, and wondering if seeing this meek and juvenile shame was what Vergil wanted from him.</p><p class="p1">What he catches in Vergil’s pale gaze isn’t cold, but curious. Probing, searching Dante’s own startled eyes for something that makes him feel much more embarrassed than lasting five minutes in Vergil’s mouth ever could. With a terrible lurch in the pit of his stomach he realizes that he might be blushing, of all things, and steels himself for the inevitable biting remark from the man who makes him feel like a child.</p><p class="p1">But nothing comes. Vergil simply stands from the ground, nudging Dante’s pants back toward him with the indifferent tip of a muddy boot.</p><p class="p1">“Come, Dante, we must find shelter before nightfall.”<br/>
<br/>
Dante blinks at him, stupidly, but Vergil is already moving away. Wait, doesn’t he want…something in return? Is this a test? Is Dante supposed to insist, or is this some kind of trade for future reciprocation? <em>When did I ever get so bad at reading you?</em> But he finds himself obediently pulling his pants back up, adjusting himself and burying his shame, hopping to his feet and putting in a little half jog to catch up. Outside the language of sex and violence, he finds himself woefully unequipped with Vergil.</p><p class="p1">“The hell was that about? Don’t you wan’t—?”<br/>
<br/>
“There’s no time,” Vergil retorts, gesturing to the fading alien sunlight of this world. And somehow Dante feels like that’s an excuse, but he can’t begin to fathom why.</p><p class="p1"> </p>
<hr/><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">It gets cool out here at night, in these deep natural environs of strange trees and stranger sounds. Sure, there were much easier ways to travel through the kingdoms of hell, more populated routes, even something akin to major cities if you knew where to go. And Vergil does. He’d wandered these bleak lands in a fugue state for… well, he isn’t certain how long. His memory feels fragmented and terribly fragile, like poking into the wrong corner would ignite a raw pain or the intense, animal fear that only recently began to abate within him. Fear had kept him going like a constant companion, a heavy weight somewhere in his ribs.</p><p class="p1">The younger, prideful part of himself is loathe to linger on it but he was so<em> afraid</em>. That’s nearly all he can remember about his travels; that constant, ever-present fear of death. He had been so close before, at the end of his brother’s sword and guns, trapped in a nightmare approximation of a body that wasn’t his own. He remembers screaming. He remembers his own voice, deaf to the world but so loud and desperate in his own head bleating out ‘<em>NO, NO, NOOO!’ </em>like a pathetic animal, so determined was he not to fade into that relentless oblivion. It wasn’t <em>fair</em>. He wasn’t supposed to die like that, alone, enslaved, unrecognized by his own twin brother who should have known better.<em> Or maybe</em>, a treacherous little voice whispers to him, <em>he gunned you down in cold blood. He never forgave you for your younger self’s violence. He wanted to snuff you out, he wanted to see you dead, and the worst part is he’d be right for it.</em></p><p class="p1">And yet, that wasn’t the end of him.</p><p class="p1">
  <em>He hated you.<br/>
He hates you. </em>
</p><p class="p1">His soul, his <em>power</em>, had been sapped straight back into the underworld indeed but perish he didn’t. He hadn’t the time to worry about how that might be, how exactly his terrified soul had any semblance of a crumbling body left to move around in the first place, but he wonders now if his desperation had anything to do with it. The rejection of his own death, or perhaps because his soul was tied to something<em> else</em> that prevented his fading. But he was weak, exhausted and animated only by the terrible fear that he might die at any second at the hands of some pathetic demonic insect looking to settle a score with his long dead father. He had felt so lost, so childlike, wandering the underworld as vulnerable and de-clawed as he was. Yamato, like his strength, was long gone. All he had then was the desperate will to survive, the fear of dying insignificant and alone to propel him forward. He didn’t have time for complicated thoughts and musings, only to run, hide, eat, kill. He was constantly searching for a way out, a place where the underworld thinned enough to pass between worlds, but it had seemed so futile until <em>something</em> lit his soul up like a beacon.</p><p class="p1">Yamato. Against all odds she was somehow whole again, and calling for him, he could feel her golden glow pulling his tired mind like a distant compass. He’d wandered yet more until he found her. At some point she’d led him from the demon world to that of the humans but he was so tired and so weak that he hadn’t noticed at what point the world around him transitioned. But once he was outside of the demon world, he only seemed to be that much weaker, as if someone had turned the gravity up on him, and his desperation reached a blind climax.</p><p class="p1">“Verge!” a rough hand claps his shoulder and startles him from where he sat gazing into the small fire they’d built, camped out at the mouth of a shallow cave. “Did you hear a word I just said?”<br/>
<br/>
“No,” Vergil concedes sharply, “I don’t suppose it was anything important.”</p><p class="p1">Dante clucks his tongue against his teeth in disappointment, flopping down beside Vergil with little grace. “I said I’ve been here before, and I’ve gotten outta here before, but I didn’t do much more than drive around until I found a hole in reality strong enough to get through.” Vergil wondered to himself what he meant by ‘drive’ but didn’t bother asking. “So where’s your door?”<br/>
<br/>
“I don’t know,” Vergil responds pointedly, “I did little more than walk around until I found a place where the veil thinned enough to get through.”<br/>
<br/>
Dante smiles at this, and Vergil notices how his whole face seems to light up with his grin, down to a gentle light in his eyes that makes him feel annoyingly at ease. It’s the kind of reaction that makes Vergil regret suspecting that Dante wished death upon him, yet the back of his mind clings to the worry regardless, as if in self defense. Or maybe it’s self harm.</p><p class="p1">“Ah, what good are we then!” Dante complains cheerfully, stretching out powerful legs to warm his boots near the flame, “I guess we’ll just do that again. Worked last time. At least there’s<em> company</em> now.”</p><p class="p1">Vergil spares him a glance, suspicious that he might be joking in that easy way of his. He can’t imagine being good company. But Dante seems much more occupied with the dancing flames than any searching looks from his brother. If he were truthful, he would mention that he feels more at ease with Dante here but that feels much too close to prying open a raw vulnerability. It would give him some sort of leverage to dig into. So he says nothing at all.</p><p class="p1">Dante seems to take this in stride and continues, unabated. “Take a load off, Verge. You can sleep first, I’ll keep an eye out. I might be bored but I’m sure as hell awake.”<br/>
<br/>
“I’m not tired,” Vergil lies.</p><p class="p1">“‘Aight, fine,” his younger brother says, fidgeting in place. He’d always done that when they were children as well, it had bothered Vergil then. It’s as if Dante is strung with live wire and must need some permanent outlet to drain his energy. “I’m sure we got plenty of catching up to do then, if you wanna swap some campfire stories.”<br/>
<br/>
“Sounds dreadful.”<br/>
<br/>
“Geez!” Dante laughs, “Guess you never got that stick out of your ass.”</p><p class="p1">“No, I don’t have any good stories.”<br/>
<br/>
“Bullshit Vergil, I at least wanna hear where baby Nero came from!”</p><p class="p1">Vergil snaps at him, suddenly, turning on Dante like an injured wild animal.</p><p class="p1"><em>“I said</em>,” he growls, “I don’t have any<em> good </em>stories, Dante!”</p><p class="p1">Dante shuts up immediately, the jovial look in his face melting into the immediate raw stare of a worried child that almost makes Vergil feel bad for yelling at him.</p><p class="p1">“All I have are half-remembered nightmares,” he continues, his tone cooler now, “Is that what you wanna hear from me?”<br/>
<br/>
Dante’s eyes dart briefly, and Vergil wonders if the improper shift in his tone gave too much of himself away. ‘<em>Wanna</em>’, child language.</p><p class="p1">“Sorry, Vergil.”<br/>
<br/>
The apology catches him off guard. It seemed unlike Dante to concede so quickly, surely he had more ribbing to do or some biting remarks at Vergil’s display of emotion. But the wincing face staring back at him hardly looks at all like the young, aggressive, vengeful Dante of decades prior who had chased him up that Tower for the promise of blood sport. Suddenly he looks so much older, tired, worn at the edges, and Vergil wonders if his own face looks quite the same. The fire of Dante’s youth seems to have been tempered somewhere along the way from then to now. Vergil can’t help but wonder what happened. He hadn’t been there to see it, after all, and very suddenly Vergil also remembers that musty, trashed office of his. Or rather, he remembers gathering the courage necessary to enter the place as V. He’d lingered there long enough to notice that Dante was alone. No wife, kids, girlfriend. Just a photo of their mother on his desk that had made him wince to see.</p><p class="p1">Dante must have noticed his words melt the fury from his older brother’s face because he continues, treading carefully.</p><p class="p1">“I mean, I’ll hear it if you want to talk.”</p><p class="p1">Vergil’s look of suspicion prompts him further.</p><p class="p1">“Sorry—I feel like I don’t have the words for things a lot of the time but, I mean if you have some shit to talk I’ll hear it from ya. It’s just us here, and—I wanna know where you’ve been. What happened to you? Uh, after you fell. Or jumped.”</p><p class="p1">Vergil does nothing but gaze levelly at him, curious and unspeaking.</p><p class="p1">Dante, feeling awkward, reaches a dirty hand up to claw some fingers through his wild mane of hair, snagging on some little knots. “Just some catchin’ up, yanno. You don’t have to if you don’t wanna. Just thought I’d ask is all.”</p><p class="p1">The silence between them seems to stretch for ages before Vergil hisses a hefty sigh through his nose. If Dante wants to hear it so badly then so be it. Let him regret asking.</p><p class="p1">“Fine, but you’re not going to enjoy this story.”</p><p class="p2"> </p>
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